


feel it in my bones

by Damkianna



Category: The Sting (1973)
Genre: Caretaking, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Extra Treat, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Minor Injuries, Protectiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-19
Updated: 2019-05-19
Packaged: 2020-03-08 00:33:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,676
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18884479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Damkianna/pseuds/Damkianna
Summary: It was the closest place Henry had thought of where they could go and not get found. It had been years since he'd come by, but the arrangements he'd made still seemed to be holding up: the key was hidden right where it ought to be, shoved into the finger-width gap on one side of the top step. Henry thought for a second it wasn't there, but then he caught something with the side of a knuckle that clinked, and the relief washed through him, cool shock of it like rain.He didn't fumble too much, got the door open, and then turned and grabbed Johnny hard by the shoulder and hustled him in.





	feel it in my bones

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Dorinda](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dorinda/gifts).



> ♥
> 
> (Title borrowed from OneRepublic ft Galantis, "Bones".)

 

 

It was the closest place Henry had thought of where they could go and not get found. It had been years since he'd come by, but the arrangements he'd made still seemed to be holding up: the key was hidden right where it ought to be, shoved into the finger-width gap on one side of the top step. Henry thought for a second it wasn't there, but then he caught something with the side of a knuckle that clinked, and the relief washed through him, cool shock of it like rain.

He didn't fumble too much, got the door open, and then turned and grabbed Johnny hard by the shoulder and hustled him in.

He shoved a bit too hard, and Johnny's shoe caught on the threshold; Johnny stumbled and reached out to steady himself, and left a little smear of blood on the wall.

Henry bit the inside of his cheek hard, and didn't apologize. He should have, except he didn't want to—and, mood like he was in right now, it would have come out wrong anyhow, curdled sour and mean by the hot bitterness filling Henry up inside.

The apartment was tiny, dusty, and cramped, but that was all right. It had running water and a bed, the two things they needed most just now, which made it the equal of any suite at the Ritz for the moment.

Henry went right for the sink, twisted the taps open and let it run for a second. Didn't have towels or anything, but if he remembered right there were linens or something in the closet—and yeah, he came out with a couple spare pillowcases, not even motheaten. Good enough.

Johnny was standing there right where Henry had left him when Henry got back with the pillowcases. Just the way Henry had left him, too, blood smeared in streaks across his shirt, all over his hand, and the other pressed to his side. He hadn't sat down, wasn't looking himself over. He was watching Henry, silent, drawn, and something about it, that quiet steady stare, made Henry want to wallop him.

"Henry," Johnny said.

"Shut up," Henry bit out, and piled up the pillowcases at the edge of the sink. He got Johnny's vest open, tugged it off Johnny's shoulders. He wasn't half as careful as he should have been, and it must have hurt, but Johnny didn't make a sound; somehow that only made Henry madder.

He managed to pick Johnny's shirt-buttons open without ripping any of them off—felt like he might, wound tight like he was, ready to snap. He jerked the collar open and the shoulder of the shirt aside, and the wet smack of the bloody cloth sticking to itself, the sight of the tear in it, made his fingers clench themselves up like he was going to throw a punch after all.

"Henry," Johnny said again, real quietly. "It's just a crease."

"Deep one," Henry spat at him, savage. "Or were you bleeding like a stuck pig for your own amusement, kid?"

He shoved the tail of the shirt out of the way, and Johnny's elbow up, and even in the stark light of the bare bulb over the sink, he couldn't see a damn thing through the blood. He grabbed a pillowcase and pressed it down to mop up, and was rewarded with the hiss of breath through Johnny's teeth.

He got the corner of the pillowcase wet to rub away around the edges where some of the blood had started to dry, and held the rest down over the wound itself. And then he pulled it away and looked.

It _was_ a crease—and a deep one, but Johnny could probably get away with just stitches. Stretched out along Johnny's side, right between the lines of two ribs. Couple inches one way, and the bullet wouldn't have touched Johnny at all. Couple inches the other way, and they wouldn't be standing here talking about it.

Henry felt his jaw knot itself up tight, and couldn't be bothered trying to make sure it didn't show.

As if Johnny didn't already know he was angry. As if Johnny didn't already know why.

Henry pressed the pillowcase in place again, got a new corner wet and wiped along Johnny's side, and viciously relished the curse Johnny bit off, the shudder and jump of his skin at the ice-cold water.

"Henry—"

"Didn't I tell you to close your fat gob already?"

"Henry," Johnny repeated, because he never listened to a damn thing Henry said, and caught at Henry's wrist.

Henry shook him off without looking at him, pulled away, and all right, at least the bleeding was starting to slow a little. He took a minute to wet another pillowcase, wipe more blood off where it had started trickling down toward Johnny's hip, and it was a good thing he was so steamed; any other day he'd have worked himself up in a jiffy thinking about his hands on Johnny's bare side right here. But as it was, he could only be furious with one of them for being stupid at a time, and Johnny'd won the kewpie doll tonight.

"You stupid bastard," Henry said aloud.

"Henry—"

"I said _left_ ," and Henry was—he was pressing too hard, digging his fingers into Johnny's side, but Johnny didn't tell him off or flinch away or anything. He put his hand over Henry's, that was all.

"Henry," he said again, real soft.

"I told you this job was dicey," Henry snapped. "I told you it might go bad. I told you to be on the lookout, and to do what I said. And I said _left_."

"I know you did, Henry," Johnny said. "I was there."

His voice had gone bland, mild. Like he was teasing, like it was a _joke_ , and before Henry even knew what he was doing, he'd—he'd moved, shoved Johnny so his shoulders hit the wall with a dull flat noise and pinned him there, forearm across Johnny's chest. He was so furious his face and eyes were hot, so furious he couldn't stand it; he wanted to grab Johnny and shake him till he rattled, till he agreed he was a damn fool and should have done as Henry said—

Something of it must have shown, because Johnny's face had sobered. He was watching Henry again, in that steady way Henry hated, and then he reached up and touched Henry's face.

"I know what you said," he said quietly. "And I'd like to tell you I'm sorry, if it would help you cool off a little, but I can't, because I'm not."

Henry laughed at him, and it came out sharp at the edges, ragged. "Got yourself shot in the side, and you're not sorry? And here I thought at least you might have the common sense to—"

"If I'd moved left," Johnny said, rolling right over him without hesitating, eyes bright, "Weekes would have had a clear shot."

Henry stared at him. He couldn't make the words make sense, for a long second. Weekes had _had_ a clear shot; that was the entire goddamn problem.

But then, slow cloudy dawn creeping up, the understanding seeped unwillingly in.

He could see it all in his head again, if he tried; not that he wanted to, but it was—he'd been angry with Johnny even then, could remember the bright hot surge of it, seeing Weekes pull that gun and Johnny right in front of him, cursing Johnny for not having stood somewhere, _anywhere_ , else. And if Johnny had just gone left, the table would've been between him and Weekes. It had been easy to see exactly what Johnny needed to do.

It had been so easy to see, from where Henry was: behind Johnny, and a little to the right.

"You damn fool," Henry heard himself say. "You—"

"First rule I ever learned on the job," Johnny said, low. "If you're going to gamble, make sure to bet things you can afford to lose, instead of things you can't."

And it was unbearable, suddenly. Looking at him standing there, blue-eyed and certain, saying things like that, shirt half-off and blood still streaked all over him, and his hand against Henry's jaw like a brand. It was unbearable; Henry wanted to thrash him so he'd never do anything so stupid ever again, so he'd—

So he'd understand that he didn't get to gamble things _Henry_ couldn't afford to lose, either.

"Johnny," Henry said instead, and kissed him.

It got the better of him, Johnny's mouth against his. It was—it pushed everything else out of his head, the feeling of Johnny's lips parting for him; Johnny's breath hot and startled against his cheek, and the _sound_ Johnny made in the back of his throat.

Henry didn't even remember he still had a hand over the crease the bullet had left until he gripped Johnny tight and Johnny winced—because Johnny had forgotten too, and wasn't braced for it anymore.

"Easy," Henry said, soft, soothing, lightening up quick and pulling the pillowcase away, switching it out for a fresh one. "Easy, pal."

"It's fine, it's fine," Johnny said, already reaching for him again; and Henry fixed him with a stern look and batted his hands away.

"Cut that out—you need stitches. Pop 'em," Henry added, "and whatever it is we might be up to, we're stopping so I can redo them right then and there. Understand?"

"Aw, c'mon, Henry," Johnny said, aggrieved, put-upon, back of his hand to his eyes. "I'll be fine—"

Henry chucked him under the chin. "First rule you ever learned, and you think I don't know it?"

He kept his voice light; but Johnny's face went soft anyhow, Johnny's eyes wide and wondering for a second before they crinkled up slow as he started to smile.

"Oh, so that's how it is, huh?"

"That's how it is," Henry said, and kissed him again.

He'd go find the needle and thread in a minute.

 

 


End file.
